d make easy masters. They are besides inclined to view the Marquesans
with an eye of humorous indulgence. "They are dying, poor devils!" said
M. Delaruelle: "the main thing is to let them die in peace." And it was
not only well said, but I believe expressed the general thought. Yet
there is another element to be considered; for these convicts are not
merely useful, they are almost essential to the French existence. With a
people incurably idle, dispirited by what can only be called endemic
pestilence, and inflamed with ill-feeling against their new masters,
crime and convict labour are a godsend to the Government.

Theft is practically the sole crime. Originally petty pilferers, the men
of Tai-o-hae now begin to force locks and attack strong-boxes. Hundreds
of dollars have been taken at a time; though, with that redeeming
moderation so common in Polynesian theft, the Marquesan burglar will
always take a part and leave a part, sharing (so to speak) with the
proprietor. If it be Chilian coin--the island currency--he will escape;
if the sum is in gold, French silver, or bank-notes, the police wait
until the money begins to come in circulation, and then easily pick out
their man. And now comes the shameful part. In plain English, the
prisoner is tortured until he confesses and (if that be possible)
restores the money. To keep him alone, day and night, in the black hole,
is to inflict on the Marquesan torture inexpressible. Even his robberies
are carried on in the plain daylight, under the open sky, with the
stimulus of enterprise, and the countenance of an accomplice; his terror
of the dark is still insurmountable; conceive, then, what he endures in
his solitary dungeon; conceive how he longs to confess, become a
full-fledged convict, and be allowed to sleep beside his comrades. While
we were in Tai-o-hae a thief was under prevention. He had entered a
house about eight in the morning, forced a trunk, and stolen eleven
hundred francs; and now, under the horrors of darkness, solitude, and a
bedevilled cannibal imagination, he was reluctantly confessing and
giving up his spoil. From one cache, which he had already pointed out,
three hundred francs had been recovered, and it was expected that he
would presently disgorge the rest. This would be ugly enough if it were
all; but I am bound to say, because it is a matter the French should set
at rest, that worse is continually hinted. I heard that one man was
kept six days with his a